Chapter Thirteen, Section I
Throughout the trauma, Ruth was wonderfully
supportive, nursing me through a phase when, easily, I could have ended up on a
psychiatrist's couch. However, her loving care and the treatment I gave myself
with Chlorpromazine and barbiturates were not sufficient. What both of us
needed was expert professional counselling, a person outside our immediate
family circle. It was to "Moussi" Shantibe Dube - "The
bishop", to whom we turned. She had the loving concern, wisdom and tact,
never to mention a word about God, the Bible, Religion or the
Through Shantibe, I learned: -
LESSON NUMBER FIVE "TO HELP PEOPLE HURT BY THE CHURCH, DON'T BE TOO "RELIGIOUS"
LOVE THEM.
This is the mistake so many preachers, missionaries and Christian workers make. They want to get around quickly to quoting comforting passages of Scripture but this can serve only to drive the patient further from God. What Shantibe Dube gave me was acceptance and compassionate understanding. It was the Incarnate Christ ministering to me through Shantibe, rather than Shantibe ministering on behalf of Christ. Not only had I lost my faith in God; also I had lost my ability to relate to people, because I no longer knew whom to trust. Psychologically, I was devastated and became reticent, shy and bashful.
Also, it was not only that I no longer trusted others; many of my closest friends no longer trusted me. Ever since that defamatory statement was circulated, worldwide, through the British church's magazine, enumerating all the many allegations against me, close, intimate "prayer-partners" with whom we regularly corresponded, ceased to reply. We tried ever so hard to keep in touch but, except for a few genuine ones, we lost most of our friends. I guess they thought, "where there's smoke, there must be fire".
In retrospect, we had to lose our acceptability, really to appreciate what Jesus went through to bring us to our senses. One of the most difficult things to endure is to be cut off from people, especially loved ones. I had tasted just a little of "solitary" in that notorious prison, where I spent most of the day all by myself, within the four walls of my cell, with no radio or TV and few books. But what I was going through now was far worse. Mother Theresa has rightly said, "The biggest disease today is not leprosy, but rather the feeling of being unwanted, uncared for and deserted by everybody." Yet it should be remembered that neglected, untreated leprosy, can be the very epitome of rejection.
Down there, in the pit, I also came to appreciate more fully what Jesus went through on the Cross, especially in the last hours of the torture, when He cried out, "My God, My God, why have You forsaken me?" Although I didn't know it at the time, what I was enduring, helped prepare me for a more effective ministry to leprosy sufferers, with whom I empathized in their rejection. In retrospect, I know now that the time I spent in depression was a blessing in disguise. It convinced me, beyond all doubt, that the basic human need is to feel you are needed and the basic human joy is to help others feel that they, too, are loved and very precious.
And it was towards others and their needs that "Moussi" directed my thoughts. Whenever she found me becoming introverted, wallowing in a state of mind that threatened to confine me forever to the pit, she would help me snap out of such an attitude of self-pity. However, whenever I felt myself beginning to rise above the mire, one tragedy after another struck, returning me to "square- one" each time, until I could take no more. During such fits of depression, I kept brooding over the injustice we had experienced and the more I brooded, the deeper I sank.
For one reason or another, this, also, was a blessing in disguise, for it helped me get my priorities into proper perspective. I came to realize that I had been far too pre-occupied with theology and divisive, controversial matters in particular. The "Historic Episcopate" for example, was a myth that bugged me more than it had troubled the minds of our Indian mends. They couldn't care less whether their church was "in" or "out" of this imaginary "historical line". These were issues that plagued only little minds and Western theologians, in particular. Nothing was further from the concerns of our people than the question of whether or not their ministry was "valid" or otherwise.
Maybe I was just as much to blame for the mess I was
in. Maybe I, too, was guilty of trying to force ideas on the young Indian
church that was not ready to appropriate such heady ecclesiasticism I had made
a big issue out of a concept of the ministry that has no relevance whatsoever,
to the life of the Indian church. It was becoming clearer, day by day, that one
of the reasons why missions had come into disfavour with the Indian authorities
in various parts of the country, was that they were not prepared to allow the
Indian
What, at the time, seemed so ludicrous to me and
pharisaic to our Indian brethren and sisters, was that the British churches
were expecting the Indian churches to decide upon an issue that they,
themselves disputed! The British Gospel Mission's home churches had many misgivings
about "episcopacy," right up to the time of their legal dissolution.
One of their leading theologians, Daniel Thomlinson, commenting in the
"Gospel Advocate" (Jan. 1st. 1979), on the
Referring to the stringent conditions laid down by
the Anglican
The Home Board was expecting a lot from us, in the
Indian
It was this double standard that had soured me and
driven me right out of the organized church. There were so many anomalies and
disparities that tended to divide the Indian Christians from their overseas
funding churches. By the time I did finally get out of the pit, I found myself
with an entirely different attitude towards the
The rest of this chapter relates to the stages whereby I was won to the heart of India and her people and liberated from the hell of self-pity and despair. In this situation, I learned: -
LESSON NUMBER SIX - IF YOU WANT TO RISE FROM THE PIT OF DESPAIR
AVOID SELF- PITY LIKE THE PLAGUE.
There were several contributing factors, which led to my deliverance, one being the words of Thomas Paine, received from Ruth's sister, Irma. Printed on a card, they were displayed over my desk and I read them hundreds of times: -
I like a man, who can smile in trouble,
Grow brave by reflection and strong in distress.
'Tis the business of little minds to shrink
But he whose heart is firm and whose
Conscience approves his conduct
Will pursue his principles unto death"
Whenever I read those words, I felt I was climbing a little higher, out of the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Yes, I was climbing mountains, helped all the more by the words of the song, "Climb Every Mountain", from the "Sound of Music".
With a felt pen, Ruth had printed the verses and chorus on the rag cover of a cushion. During the famine, on necessary trips to Calcutta, Delhi, Patna and Bhopal, I saw that beautiful film six times. There was something about it that saved me from going crazy.
The enormous physical pressure of the relief program, together with the mental and emotional strain engendered by constantly having to deal with thousands of people - just skin and bone - struggling to stay alive, was almost beyond my capacity to endure. All those trips to the movies worried the family a bit; they were beginning to imagine that, perhaps I had fallen in love with Julie Andrews! But it was the vibrant, positive message of the film that enthralled me. If a totally unacceptable governess could win over such a boisterous, undisciplined bunch of lovable brats, then anything is possible. During my severe bouts of depression, if l played the film sound track on record or cassette once, I must have played it a thousand times. The record, in fact, eventually wore out and, in order to make it turn, I had to help it round and round with the eraser on the end of a pencil!
Although it was a miracle that I had endured so far, I did not attribute it to any divine intervention. For me, there no longer was any god to whom I could cry out for help. Religion and Christianity in particular, had become what it is considered by many to be - just the "opiate of the masses". Man, in his ignorance, had to invent the concept of a god to account for phenomena, which cannot be explained in a rational and scientific manner. "It's all just a figment of the imagination", I tried to convince myself.
But as for Jesus, I just could not forget Him and the way He identified with the poor, the underdog, those of all races, colours and cultures. More especially, exploited women and widows, in particular, were dear to His heart along with the "Untouchables" and those called "Lepers", in His day. He was such a wonderful person that they had deified Him. "Someday," I thought, "they may elevate Mahatma Gandhi in the same way." In fact, already, though unknown to me at the time, there were Hindu temples where the Mahatma, along with Jesus, had been granted the status of an "Avata" or incarnation.
But even with a changed attitude like that, however noble, there was no way I could escape from the pit. I was such a broken wreck of a person that I needed a Superman to get me out. I remember the graphic way Tilia Babu, our Bhavnagar Elder, described the differences between the various religions. He likened the decadent human race to a man down a deep pit, with no way of escape. The God of the Muslims passes by and, looking down at the man explains the reason for his dilemma.
"You should know, my poor man, that it is not without reason that you are in this plight. What you are suffering is the inevitable consequence of your misbehaviour. You must suffer your punishment with patience." And Allah goes on his way.
Along comes the God of the Buddhists (however, it should be remembered that, for many Buddhists, there is no deity, as such; they are adherents to a 'philosophy' rather than a religion) who, seeing the poor man in such distress, assures him that it is all in his mind. It is all "Maya" (illusion). His attention is fixed too much on the temporal things of life. His suffering is all in his imagination. "Nirvana," a state of "nothingness", will be achieved through right thinking, meditation and a fixing of the mind on higher things. And so Buddha goes on his way.
Along comes Brahma, the God of the Hindus, who offers another possible solution to his quandary. "If only you will endure your state with right attitudes, you will die, of course, but in the next life, you may rise to a higher level. It may take time, but there is hope. Only remember, you have to work at it, through "Karma". And so Brahma moves on.
Next to see the man in his awful predicament, is Yahweh or Jehovah, the God of the Jews, who is the first to give the man some measure of hope. He points out the ten niches up the wall of the pit where it may be possible to get a handgrip here and a toehold there. Yahweh goes on his way, leaving the man in his dire straits. At least he could now see that there were ten niches; he could not see them before, but he did not have the strength to avail himself of this way out.
At last, along comes Jesus. He does not point out to the man his stupidity in falling into the pit. He does not even ask why he was so careless. There are neither questions asked nor reprovals expressed. Without delay, Jesus Himself, goes down, right into the mire and lifts the hapless wretch out. Jesus eventually did come down and fetch me out and He did it in a most remarkable way - a Miraculous way.
Oh yes, I knew full well all the philosophy contained in Tilia Babu's story. I even had preached sermons in much the same vein but, like the man in the pit, I, too, was in darkness, blind to all the efforts Jesus was making to get me out through people such as "Moussi" and others. There were many occasions when I considered such efforts as "unreal", but it would be some time before I could consider them Miracles.
However, in His own mysterious way, the Lord was working out His Miracle. At least He had something to work on and that was the concern we still had for the community, evidenced by the fact that we did not leave India when Ruth, Bruce and I could have fled the country, with air-fares paid to Australia by the British Board. In refusing to go, also we had forfeited that return travel allowance.
There was now about a month left for us to honour the Agreement with the Home Board to "leave the area". But what did they mean by "the area"? They never explained that, nor did they give us a copy of the Agreement. Did it mean the "ecclesiastical area"? Maybe it meant the whole area of the Mission's activities in Palamghat-Surgapam. Legally, it was totally ambiguous. Why, it could even mean the immediate Mission bungalow verandah where the hastily prepared document was signed under duress. To give them the benefit of the doubt, we took "the area" to be the bungalow and immediate mission compound environs. I had agreed to withdraw from "the area" BEFORE June 30th., 1970.
Consulting 'with our Indian brothers and sisters, it was suggested that, as we hadn't signed NOT to return AFTER the 30th. June, we should leave after a grand farewell as though we were leaving for good. They further suggested that, before the deadline date, we should inform the Home Board that we have vacated their bungalow, as agreed. During the first week of July, following a rest in the Himalayas, we were to return to an entirely new "secular" work, based at Sahaganj, three miles from "the area" at Nawapara. The time we planned to spend with Bruce, in the mountains, would give our friends a few weeks to erect some sort of a hut for us on the banks of the Rigalto River.
After that initial heavy rain in May, which cost us all those bricks, the skies had cleared and the farmers had real fears that the monsoon would be late in building up to full strength. If so, it could mean that we would have our own little residence - quite an adventure.
Unfortunately, there was insufficient time to bake tiles, so it meant that the hut would have a thatched roof, which would pose a very real problem in the monsoon.
With every possibility of our having to swim the swollen Komela River, if we were to return to Surgapam, in July, after the start of the monsoon, we decided that Ruth should stay in Mussoorie, leaving me to return alone.
Our hut, which Ruth will describe in detail later, would need to be very simple. The mud walls would have to be erected with the minimum of delay, taking advantage of any possible easing of the rain.
Time would permit nothing longer than twenty-five feet, with a width of nine feet and a height of six feet at the top of the walls. The hut could not possibly contain all our personal household gear, but kind village folk offered to give us space in their homes to store what we would not be able to use in our hut.
One of our greatest problems in vacating the mission bungalow was in finding suitable space to store what we considered our most valuable possessions, including a library of some three thousands odd books, encyclopaedias, commentaries, diaries, reference notes, personal files and documents, photo albums and transparencies, etc., which we had accumulated over the period of twenty years we had been with the mission.
Storage in the mud mission bungalow at Nawapara, always had been somewhat of a problem, because of termites coming out of the walls, but at least the floors were of concrete. In the kiln, there were a few bricks that were reasonably well baked and we used these to protect our precious treasures from the ubiquitous white ants against which we had fought a running battle for two decades.
I shall never forget the experience I had with termites on one of my pioneering treks with James Russell. We slept the night on the floor in a village hut. I had a brand-new canvas ground sheet under my sleeping bag. When I woke the next morning, I found that termites had eaten many holes in the sheet, while I, like Gulliver, had been asleep above them.
As planned, immediately on reaching Mussoorie, Ruth & I informed the Home Board that the Nawapara bungalow had been vacated on schedule but that, by invitation of our Indian sisters and brothers, including the church leaders, we were returning to Surgapam, but not to the "the area". Although it was wishful thinking, on our part - an impossible dream - we thought that the Board might consider reversing its decision if they knew we had kept our promise.
In anticipation of receiving grace, Ruth wrote to the Home Board, requesting that we be permitted again to occupy the bungalow at Nawapara, but this time as paying tenants. Their reply, however, came back loud and clear, "There is just no way, by which you may be permitted to remain in the area."
Ruth stayed in Mussoorie, at the US Methodist Guest House, "Rokelands", managed in the summer season by Joy, wife of Dr. Donald E. Rutherglen. Joy did for Ruth what Shantibe Dube did for me. Leaving Ruth in Joy's tender care, I returned to the plains, managing to get right through to Sahaganj, in spite of having to swim several streams and rivers, towing behind me, in a sealed plastic bag, what valuables were needed - change of clothes, passport, visa, residential permit and a few rupee notes.
Battling the violence of the monsoon in our little mud hut, against almost overwhelming odds, nearly shattered me completely. Incidentally, the first impression I had of our new home, was a vivid reminder of the thatched-roof mud huts I witnessed on the Air-Force cinema screens and in my dreams at the time. In retrospect, our rustic residence was a very real part of the outworking of God's plan for us all along.
On one particular occasion, when I was feeling most dejected, Bhednadi Singh Sahib called to have a chat, as he often did on days when he visited the Champapur weekly bazaar. Sensing that I had a very deflated spirit, he put his arm around me and, giving me a tight hug, said in Hindi, "Cheer up Sahib, Bhagwan (Hindu name for God) will help you." At first I thought that this Hindu gentleman of the now defunct Surgapam Royal Family, was desirous of converting me to his faith, because of which I did not respond to his affection as he had wished.
But then he went on, hugging me again - "Sahib, remember Moses in the desert all those years. He didn't give up. And what about the Children of Israel? Look what they went through and the way they trusted God. And God trusted them too and would not let them go. He fed them manna in the desert and saw them through. And what about Jesus; did He give up? No, Sahib, He didn't give up and you must NOT give up. We need you, Sahib; the whole community needs you to complete the Project and to teach us all the things we need to know to make us strong." Hugging me once more, even harder than before, he said, "Sahib, DON'T give up." It was all so unreal!
Here was a Hindu, bringing to me, a Christian of a sort, words of comfort and healing. And there was no ulterior motive in the consolation he offered. Bhednadi Singh Sahib was not a poor man. In recent years, as foreign missions have progressively reduced their financial aid, some of their expatriate staff, who had imagined themselves to be in close relationships with the nationals, have been surprised to find their popularity on the wane. No missionary can really know how close he is to those he serves, until all funds from abroad have been cut off, leaving him with nothing to offer but himself. I was deeply moved by Bhednadi Sahib's genuine concern for me as a person. But how had he come to know of Moses and Jesus?
It was through that very first Bible I sold in Surgapam, to Bhednadi Singh and which was to be the means whereby I was to start my journey back to the Lord! Here was a member of the Surgapam Royal Family, with a very real reason for not helping me - a Republican. I had developed these political convictions (though as a missionary and a guest in the country, I took no part in politics) through a close association with Shri Jai Prakash Narayan and other Indian leaders who, in a non- violent way, had struggled to free India from the exploitation and repression of the British Raj and its cohorts - the Maharajahs.
Bhednadi Sahib knew of my views and how I disapproved of monarchical systems, particularly that of the British Raj which had behaved so callously in India and also in my own country, where it had treated the Aboriginal people so inhumanely. However, in spite of my strong views, he was showing loving kindness to me, an opponent of his form of rule. It was more than unreal; it was Grace. It hit me like a bombshell. That day I really felt that I rose to a higher stratum in the pit. Bhednadi Sahib's positive approach to my problem had started to restore for me, a faith in humankind. My exuberance, however, was short-lived when a nerve-shattering letter reached us from Mussoorie.
By this time, Ruth had returned from the Himalayas and New Delhi after a most refreshing vacation with Don & Joy Rutherglen. I am glad she arrived back when she did, because this news from Mussoorie Boarding School brought a shock too great for either of us to have borne alone. It was an account in the "red", with a covering letter from the School Treasurer, giving us a final date by which the debit balance had to be cleared, failing which Bruce would be sent home. We were stunned, not having taken into consideration that the Home Board not only would stop our salary but also Bruce's tuition and boarding fees.
The question now arose as to where we would fit Bruce in the hut, which barely accommodated the two of us. The thought of Bruce having to terminate his high school studies was a burden we just had to share with our Indian friends, although we could see no way of them being able to help us in any practical way. They certainly could not afford to send their own children to such an elite international school, famous throughout all of southern Asia.
When Zackius Minz, President of both the Indian
He offered specific prayer that the sum of Two Thousand Rupees, the amount in arrears, be found and that Bruce be able to continue at high school to gain his US Diploma.
When a person is in a state of spiritual depression, he tends to think negatively. There is a very simple test to determine whether a person thinks negatively or positively. You may like to ask your friend "Looks like being a very dull day today, doesn't it?" A reply in the negative may go like this: "Sure does; could even be a storm." On the other hand, a reply in the positive is along these lines: "You never can tell; those clouds could clear. But wasn't yesterday the most beautiful day!"
I know I was still in the doldrums, because I was thinking negatively, even after Zackius, a man of God, asked the Lord to provide the needed funds to cover the debit balance. What I said to myself was, "Two thousand rupees is only enough to get us out of the 'red'; it will not cover his fees for the next semester."
About two or three weeks had passed when Kalemari handed me an envelope saying, "This amount of Rupees Two Thousand is to clear Bruce's account. Please send it off to his Boarding School. Do you remember when, during the famine, you and Ruth personally loaned us karmcharis two thousand rupees to prevent us falling into the hands of the moneylenders?" I did recall that we loaned the staff this money to save their lands and to buy food that was fast disappearing in the bazaar. Our people were so poor that we had no hope of ever recovering that loan, but I did say to them, "If, in the future, you find you are able to repay it, even perhaps after we have left India, please use the money to help someone in real need!"
Where did Kalemari and his colleagues get this large amount? I could think of only one source - the moneylenders! What our Indian colleagues did for us was unreal and we thanked them from the bottom of our hearts. I might even have been prepared to call their generous payment a miracle were it not for another major tragedy which, once more, nearly sent us back to "Square One". This latest blow, which we thought just had to be the final one, hit us harder than when, because of the bricks, we lost all we had in our Bombay and Melbourne banks. We no longer had the security we needed to face our retirement years and nothing on hand to see our way back to Australia. During the few weeks Ruth and I spent in the Himalayas, after withdrawing from "the area", a violent storm hit our part of Surgapam, damaging the roofs of many village homes, including the one in which our sixteen trunks and boxes were stored.
In the course of repairs, mud and broken tiles fell down between the walls and our precious possessions, thus bridging the chasm we thought would have kept the termites at bay. These voracious creatures had struck a bridgehead and lost no time in getting to work on what, to them, must have been a gourmet's delight. The body fluids of white ants are quite corrosive and observers of their destructive habits never cease to be amazed at the way they can eat even through mild steel. It was in this way that they gained entry to our metal trunks, not one of which was spared.
We end up with nothing -- our son, Paul, salvaging what rats and termites left behind.
As for the wooden boxes, the rats competed with the termites and wrought such devastation that nothing could be salvaged. Even the valuable commentaries and other books that could not be shredded to provide nesting, were contaminated by stinking faeces, urine and the skeleton remains of their producers. We had lost everything and I cried like a baby. Some of our Indian sisters and brothers also shed tears in genuine, deep love and sympathy. We now, virtually, had - NOTHING!
However, I only had myself to blame. Like a degraded pauper, I sat on a trunk in the midst of all the putrefaction and reflected. In my earlier years, had I not yearned to go to some undeveloped land, some primitive place, to live in a simple thatched-roof mud hut to empathize with people who had nothing? Had I not even asked the Lord to lead us to such a place? Was my present beggarly condition therefore, not an answer to my own prayer - the fu1.filJment of an Impossible Dream? I tried to put myself in the place of God being petitioned in such a way and reasoned "Do you think an impartial God would answer such a prayer by sending me to an indigent people, while allowing me to retain all my affluent trappings? No way," I said to myself. I thought of the Prodigal Son and how he had to wallow in the mud, slush and excrement of a pigsty, before he came to his senses.
For the first time in months, I began to think positively. As we burnt the decaying piles of what had been a life-time of treasure collecting, we even laughed; we were free! The burden of having to store all that junk was lifted. I was actually rising out of the pit. I even felt the elation that had transported my soul into the "seventh heaven", as it were, during those initial pioneering days under persecution.
I know that there are times when Indian Christians are jealous of foreign missionaries, encumbered as they are with modern "facilities" -- video recorders, fancy cameras, fax machines and the like - to supposedly aid their ministries. But now we no longer had the material wealth which some expatriates, perhaps unconsciously so, have used to maintain power and authority on the mission field. Stripped of all but what the Lord considered to be necessary, we would now have to be accepted on our own merits, not by virtue of what we could offer outside of ourselves. Proof of that acceptance came when Shobha Dede, one of Shantibe Dube's former orphan- students and now a mother of eight living children, brought us four eggs at a time when we wondered from where we would get our next meal.
It was not as though we had no food; it was the variety and balanced diet that we missed. During all the months on no salary, Ruth prepared tasty meals from what we grew in our own small garden, getting necessary protein from peanuts and soybeans. And that was far more than Shobha Dede had. During the 1967 famine, sickness had struck her family, running up for her a heavy expense for antibiotics. We paid for these personally and told Shobha she could reimburse us later, if she were ever in a position to do so. She knew we were softhearted and had "forgotten" her debt and this must have tempted her to the limits to forget her part in the agreement. With insufficient food to feed her growing family, this dear sister in Christ had given the best she had, what she could ill-afford to have given - four eggs. I was profoundly moved. Her concern for us was not just "unreal"; it was a Miracle.
Two similar incidents further helped to re-establish my faith in people and in the Lord. A desperately poor man from the Samrapari plateau gave us a fish as a thank offering for saving his life during the famine. Another - a grateful leprosy sufferer - gave us a handful of fresh beans. These are experiences impossible to forget. They helped to develop firm convictions that, in spite of all that the media and negatively minded churchmen say about the decadence of the fallen human race, there is a basic goodness in the hearts of men and women.
To find that spark of life is the business of Jesus and to share in its liberation is the privilege of those who are prepared to be stripped of all but what is necessary to perform that ministry, through identification with those in need.
Paradoxically, I had been led of the Lord to a place where there was nothing, only to find-- EVERYTHING, even the very SECRET TO LIFE itself.
It was an exciting day when we next heard from Mussoorie. Attached to the School Treasurer's letter was a receipt covering the two thousand rupees and a statement of accounts now in the "black", showing an additional credit of fifteen hundred and seventy five rupees. A footnote explained that the school Managing Committee had resolved to grant Bruce a full scholarship to complete his high school education, or until such time that we could arrange for his support.
We learned later that the School Managing Committee had been so moved when they heard of our karamcharis' sacrifice for Bruce, that they made this scholarship the largest ever awarded to one of its students.
However, while Bruce's expenses were being taken care of, we had no personal income of our own and occasionally were receiving strongly worded letters, attached to bills, ordering us to pay by such and such a date, or else!
What was even more serious related to our Residential Permits. All foreigners in India, except those who have been invited by the government for some public project, are required to guarantee their full financial support from abroad. Our documents were due for renewal at the end of December. By that time, Ruth and I would need to solicit the interest of some foreign organization, paying its workers in "hard currency", to take us onto their payroll. The name and address of the supporting body has to be clearly entered in the application form for renewal.
Considering the fact that I had been denigrated worldwide, through the "Blue Insert" in the "Gospel Advocate", it was an impossible dream to imagine that any organization would engage me as an employee on their Indian field staff.
By this time, in a desperate struggle to regain some
measure of faith, once more I had learned to pray, to find joy in Bible study
and in fellowship with the local church, now in the N.I.U.C.. We found that our
membership had been transferred into the new united church. In keeping with the
agreement I made with the British churches, I declined every invitation to take
a leadership role in the church. I am sure it was answered prayer when we received
a letter from the Australian Gospel
Chapter Thirteen, Section II
What a relief it was to receive our first salary check from Australia! Although it was meant for our personal needs, almost the full amount went into covering ACDP expenses. These included the purchase of a few drums of diesel fuel, feed for the pigs, three suction pipes for the irrigation pumps, along with three rolls of three-inch diameter plastic delivery hose.
This now meant that we could hire out three pumps, which could yield some income. One pig was about to deliver a litter, the sale of which would bring in still more revenue. It was all so exciting, especially on the day we issued our first ACDP receipt - No. 00001 - for sixteen rupees, being one day's rental for one of the pumps. We were in business and determined to stay that way. We did, however, manage to put a little money aside to cover Bruce's rail fare home for Christmas, to purchase postage stamps and to stock up some kerosene for the 'fridge, the latter being of great importance to store antibiotics and vaccines.
After being months in the doldrums, as it were, again we were moving forward. Our elation, however, was short-lived, three months, in fact.
When the British Board heard that their Australian counterpart had agreed to support us for two years to save the ACDP from total collapse, they were highly incensed and vented their indignation in no uncertain terms. It so happened that a former British Gospel Mission member had been ministering to a Victorian church. It was this one-time English missionary to Africa, who was deputized by the British Board to express to the Australian churches their strong disapproval of our acceptance and support. They threatened that further funding to the Skillicorns could lead to a break in relationships between the British and Australian Gospel Mission Boards!
The Australian churches regretfully decided that, in order to preserve relationships, our support should be stopped.
Although it came as a cruel blow when no further checks were received, there was no indication that our friends in Australia thought I was in any way guilty of the wild charges that led to our break with the British churches. In fact, the letter accompanying that final check had an encouraging hand-written footnote assuring us that other avenues were being explored with a view to helping us stay on, at least to establish the project.
I must confess that, in spite of my renewed faith, once more I became bitter, so bitter, in fact, that I even found myself once more hating those Home Board people who seemed to be bent not only on my destruction but also that of the socio-economic viability of our Palamghat-Surgapam churches.
It seemed so utterly incongruous that a missionary society, which is meant to promote the Kingdom of Love, could behave in such an un-Christian way. I was "consoled", at the time, in the realization that other prominent church leaders were guilty of even greater sins -- involvement in secretive Klu Klux Klan terrorism in one of the southern states of the US!.
The Board's vindictive attitudes seemed to be the very antithesis of the Gospel of Christ, which requires us to love even our enemies and to forgive "seventy times seven". Did they not realize that our churches, even under the N.W.C., could not fully support themselves without the help of the ACDP, or at least some sort of similar project with a comparable broad approach to economic development?
But there was no way that the N.I.U.C. could now build up a similar effort in our field because the ACDP had in its membership and staff, many of the key karmcharis, who also were loyal supporters of the united church. This is what many people in the British Gospel churches could not understand: how I could be "out of relationships" with the Indian churches when the latter were right behind me and the ACDP. It all seemed so ludicrous.
By this time, word had spread far and wide that the British Board had at last forced my hand and that, without overseas financial support, we could not qualify for Residential Permit renewal.
One day, a very strange thing happened. In the same
mail, I received six important letters. The first one was from the Ilford
(London) Gospel
I wonder if the British Board ever came to know that I received an invitation from one of its own London churches and also from the very bishop against whom it was alleged I had competed for "power and authority"! Other invitations were received from a US Methodist project in Northern India, the Ramabibi Mission in Western India and a large girls' orphanage in Bihar.
In some ways, the temptation to consider these callings, along with their regular salaries, was very great, but, because we were now fully committed to the ACDP, there was no alternative but to stick it out - on faith.
In fear and trepidation, I opened the last letter, being addressed from the Government of India. I feared that Calcutta Customs would demand further impossible documentation concerning the wagons of wheat that "went astray". Instead, the envelope contained our Residential Permits, valid for another year!
Our faith was still holding, strengthened by our Indian friends with whom we were now enjoying regular fellowship in the N.I.U.C. church at Karanja. It had been a long, hard struggle to preserve our faith, which, by now, had been tested as by fire. However there seemed to be something not quite right. The faith that I now had recovered lacked the splendour of what I had possessed during those early years of ministry. What really troubled me was the bitterness that again had welled up in my heart, following the loss of the Australian support.
I so much wanted to love those who seemed determined to destroy me, but I could not find the Strength. Long hours were spent in prayer, searching my soul to discover why I lacked the ability to love my "enemies". Specifically, I asked the Lord to restore His former glory and once more give me that Peace which surpasses all understanding. At last, light began to dawn. While I had imagined that I had abandoned all my resentments, in actual fact I had not. I was waiting for the British Board to apologize or at least to recognize they had made a mistake and misjudged me.
By now, ample time had passed for them to have seen that, in no way, had I frustrated the churches in their entry into N.I.U.C.. After all, was I not worshipping with the Karanja church each Sunday? And would Diocesan Bishop Dinesh Kerketta have invited me to head up the Lohardipti Project of the N.I.U.C., had I been a renegade?
Intimation of my good relationship with the N.I.U.C. churches was bound to have filtered through to Britain by now. And it just HAD to get through, for there was no way that the AIFC could lift its "Temporary Moratorium" without the British Board at least admitting they had made a mistake. Without the lifting of the ban, there was no way that funding could be resumed, through the CBSD. "Sure," I thought to myself, "Bishop Kerketta will be able to persuade the British Board to drop its charges. Why, if that could be, they might even let us return to the comforts of the Nawapara bungalow." As for that bungalow, it was pathetic to see the way it had deteriorated. We had spent so much time, through the years, making it and the environs beautiful, that it hurt to see it now looking so derelict.
Since our eviction, none of our Indian friends would go near it, as though it were haunted! During the time following our withdrawal, it had been taken over by rats, snakes and termites. In contrast, I knew of some missionaries who were really out of relationships with the Indian church and who had their possessions looted and their bungalows occupied by Christian nationals while they were still packing and even before they had a chance to fully vacate their mission property!
I believe it to be part of the miracle of our restoration that the Lord revealed why He was not able to get through to give me the Strength I needed to live positively. I had cut off His Power by insisting that the Board acknowledge its mistake, apologize and reverse its decision. I had learned another lesson:-
LESSON NUMBER SEVEN:- "FORGIVENESS IS NOT CONDITIONAL UPON AN APOLOGY"
Christian Grace does not say, "I will forgive you IF you apologize." Paul makes it clear in Romans 5:8 (RSV) - "But God shows His love for us in that, while we were YET sinners, Christ died for us." In other words, while we were still in our state of pride and rebellion, He suffered for us. And it is through that unmerited suffering that we find the Strength we need to overcome our pride. The same theme is found in 2 Cor. 5:19 (RSV) - "God was in Christ, reconciling the world to Himself, not counting their trespasses against them and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation". '
This is where I was falling short. Even while we are all wrapped up in ourselves, bent on doing our own thing, in our own selfish way, Jesus turns a blind eye to our faults and takes no account of them. It is not that He condones sin, but rather that He does not charge it against us (Acts 7:60). But, beware: this does not mean that we can selfishly take advantage of Grace. (Romans 6: 11).
After much prayerful meditation, I determined in my heart to cease demanding my "rights". After all, as I already knew in theory, a Christian has no rights. And so, then and there, I had to forgive, totally, those who had accused me. It was not until I had buried the hatchet and asked the Lord to cleanse me of my determination to be vindicated through receiving a public apology that, once again, I felt the warmth of God's love flowing into my life.
I had believed that, only through such an apology, or recognition by the Board of its mistake, that funding could be resumed to the Project. I now began to believe that, perhaps through a Miracle, without me trying further to defend myself, the AICF's "Temporary Moratorium" would be lifted from the ACDP and financial help continued.
The Home Board never did apologize and it is now too late for it to do so because, along with the parent body, it has been legally dissolved. In 1981, after many years of struggling to survive, the Conference of British Gospel churches, as a denomination, ceased to exist, most of their churches having amalgamated with another denomination in a union agreement.
I know that my former accusers have forgiven me, although they find it difficult and embarrassing to admit the fact. They never would have published a few of my short articles in their periodical, "The Gospel Advocate", had they not first buried their hatchet. One of my accusers, in a gesture of friendship, endeavoured to meet our son, Robert, in Wales, but sadly, Robert was away from home at the time. The one who falsely accused me of "repudiating my ordination" (his words), by entering the N.I.U.C. as a "layman", would like to apologize but, instead, when he writes to me, the envelope is addressed to The "Reverend" Skillicorn. It's his way of saying, "I'm sorry".
It had been a painful return and a bitter experience learning those seven lessons, but it was worth it, even if I had to descend into the pit and wallow in the mire of self-pity. My prayer is that if any of you who read this book are not experiencing the Peace, Joy and Satisfaction promised in Jesus, meditate upon these seven lessons; they work.
When our Indian colleagues heard that the British Board had succeeded in having our Australian financial support stopped, thus threatening, once more, to force us out of the field, they offered to write to our son, Robert, in Britain. They requested Robert, on their behalf, to appeal to the Board for justice and Christian Grace. Zackius Minz was the first to write and I quote his letter, verbatim: -
Dear Brother in Christ,
I send greetings in Christ Jesus, our Saviour. We are quite well here by the mercy of God and I hope that you are well, by the same mercy of God.
Brother, concerning your father, Mr. Ernest Keith Skillicorn, and misunderstanding about "Bishop", he does not want episcopal Anglican type bishop, but wants New Testament "Shepherd". As far as I can understand his views, I would try to help clear it for our church's sake. Your father suggested to me, because many accept me as a spiritual leader, to be assistant New Testament type "Shepherd" bishop, to work humbly with Ranitola Anglican bishop, that is Mr. D. Kerketta, not for competition, power and authority, as some persons say. .
There is misunderstanding about the word
"bishop." When your father used the word 'bishop', he always used to
repeat the real meaning of the same word 'bishop', according to the New
Testament. As far as I can understand the meaning of the same, I found in the
doctrines of Gospel Mission
Brother Robert, when you were in India, you were child; now you become wise man. I thank God for your good health and wisdom given you by God. Do you remember me or not? I am Zackius tall man. Now days I am at Bhavnagar as pastor and Bible teacher. Brother, I pray earnestly to solve about this written matter that God may guide us and Holy Spirit control our Creator's paths. I request you, please pray about this matter. God bless you and may God Bless your job. Thank you brother.
Yours sincerely, in Christ Signed: Zackius Minz